A Kiss At Midnight
by SnowboundMermaid
Summary: Abbie Mills always wanted a decent kiss on New Year's Eve, and Ichabod Crane is the one to deliver it, in his own unique manner.


Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow or anything related to it. This is only my own what-if imagining.

"I have to go to Doug and Lisa's party," Abbie placed the invitation to the New Year's Eve party face up on the kitchen table. "Which means you have to go, because I am not walking in there alone."

Crane answered her with an arch look and returned to his perusal of the leatherbound edition of _Robinson Crusoe_ Abbie had given him for Christmas. "I shall most eagerly await your return."

"Nope, nothing doing." Abbie took the book from him, inserted the metal bookmark and closed the pages. "Party now, read later. It'll be fun. We only have to stay until midnight, and then we can come right back here and you can pick up exactly where you left off."

"Only until midnight?"

Abbie sketched a cross over her heart. "Promise. There's free food and an open bar. That alone is worth the cost of admission."

"There is a cost to attend this party? That does not seem in the least hospitable. You are sure the hosts are your friends?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I was a bridesmaid in their wedding. The cost of admission thing is a figure of speech. The party is free, and you get the book back when we get home. Do whatever it is you need to make yourself presentable and we are leaving in an hour. What you're wearing will be fine." Abbie took the book with her as she padded into her room, tossing it on the bed before flinging open her closet doors. She rifled through the hangers before finally settling on a knee length red dress with a pair of gold heels, left over from another friend's wedding. _If anybody asks me when it's going to be my turn, I'm punching them_.

When she returned to the living room, Crane rose, greeting her with a polite but appreciative glance. He, of course, looked exactly the same as he always did. If she ever did see him wearing anything but his own eighteenth century clothes, that would be stranger than anything the supernatural had to dish out.

Snow fell as they drove to the party, Crane peppering Abbie with questions about the seat warmers.

"I don't know how they work," she answered, keeping her eyes on the road. "I'm just thankful that they do."

"Another modern miracle," Crane pronounced. By this time, Abbie ought to be over the sense of wonder, or sometimes outrage, at things that she and the rest of the modern world took for granted, but she wasn't yet. Maybe wouldn't be, ever. "In my time," he continued, "I would have been grateful for a warm brick wrapped in flannel. Once, when Katrina and I drove home from visiting her father shortly after our wedding," he stopped there, the words drifting off like snow as he turned to stare out the window.

Abbie knew that silence. "Must be hard to be away from her on New Year's Eve."

"It is," was all he said, all he needed to say.

"It's okay to miss her." Abbie steered around a patch of ice on the road. "You have to believe that you'll be together again someday."

He turned back toward her. "I do, most ardently."

"That's good. Keep the faith, and while you're at it, you could finish the story about the hot brick."

Ichabod coughed. "I fear that I cannot. Further details are unsuitable for mixed company, or the ears of an unmarried woman."

"Then why'd you start the story in the first place if you're not going to finish it? Trying to corrupt me?"

"I forgot myself."

Abbie allowed herself a small smile. "You should forget yourself more often. I like your stories." She slowed as they approached the two story white colonial and eased into a vacant space between two other cars. "Try to have a good time, okay?"

"I will do my best." Crane offered his arm when they had both exited the car.

Navigating the stone walk, Abbie noted, was a lot easier to do in heels when there was someone steady to lean on. She could get used to that. He took hold of the lion's head door knocker and gave it one smart rap. The door swung open to reveal Lisa, abundantly pregnant, corkscrew curls draped over her shoulder. "Lieutenant Mills and Mr. Crane," Ichabod announced before favoring Lisa with a courtly bow.

"Abbie!" Lisa enfolded Abbie in a warm hug. "You made it. You look great."

Abbie drew back. "You too. This is Crane, a friend from work. Crane, this is Lisa. Her husband, Doug, is," Abbie peered over Lisa's shoulder. "somewhere?"

Lisa gestured to the arched doorway to their right. "Doug's having some trouble getting the fireplace started. It's his pet project tonight."

"If you might direct me to your husband, perhaps I might be of assistance."

Abbie slipped out of her coat and draped it over the coat rack. "Crane is great at starting fires. He'll get things going in no time."

Relief softened Lisa's features. "That would be great, thanks. Doug has red hair and he's wearing a brown sweater. He'll be the one swearing at the pile of newspaper in the grate. Can't miss him."

A muffled expletive carried across the room. "Indeed I shall not." Crane set off to right yet another wrong.

"Nice call on your date," Lisa said. "Good to see you have somebody decent to kiss at midnight."

Abbie blinked at the word _kiss_. "It's not like that. We're friends. He's married."

"Then where's his wife?"

"Katrina," Abbie took in a breath. How to explain this to somebody who had no idea? "Couldn't be here. She's out of the country. I'd explain her job, but I don't completely understand it myself."

The doorbell rang, sparing Abbie from any further explanations. She excused herself while Lisa welcomed the next guests and started to make the rounds. Familiar faces, for the most part, with a smattering of newcomers to keep things interesting. All the while, she kept one eye on Crane, which wasn't at all hard. The fireplace now roaring, he'd turned being of assistance into the theme of the evening.

If a bottle needed opening, there he was. Furniture needed rearranging? Crane again. He'd appointed himself the official food runner, bringing Lisa a plate from the buffet once she'd kicked off her shoes, then performing the same favor for a white-haired couple comfortably ensconced in the overstuffed loveseat. He'd even marched out into the snow once, with a blue plastic bag in one hand and Lisa's teacup poodle on the end of a pink rhinestone leash. Abbie broke off her current conversation long enough to snap a photo of _that _with her phone. She'd brought somebody decent, all right, but there wouldn't be any kissing involved, no matter how good that idea sounded. Maybe it was time to give online dating another shot.

Later, she spied Crane, looking decidedly uncomfortable, pinned in a corner of the room by a woman she didn't know. Even across the room, she knew Crane's _help me_ look, and hoped he knew her _follow my lead_ look.

She strode toward him, picking up two flutes of champagne on the way. "Hey, baby, I called my mom," she said loud enough for his companion to hear and handed Crane one of the glasses as soon as the other woman took a step back. "The kids are in bed, and my dad found your ring when he took Max for his walk. We can get it cleaned and resized in the morning." She stuck out her hand to the woman. "Hi, I'm Abbie."

The woman took it, her handshake brief and polite. "Jessica. I was just leaving. You guys have a happy new year."

"Thank you." Crane draped an awkward arm about Abbie's shoulder and drew her close. "We will endeavor to do so." He left his arm there, warm and strong and weighing nothing at all, until Jessica crossed the room and disappeared into the hallway. Then the polite distance returned. "Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant."

"No problem. You'd have done the same for me if the situation were reversed."

"Of a certainty. I shall ever be your champion against unwanted suitors." He raised a tentative fist to shoulder level. "Is this an appropriate occasion?"

Abbie tapped her fist against his. "It is."

Crane turned the glass in his hand. "I informed Miss Jessica that I was married, but she did not believe me until you launched your clever ruse."

"Most married men in this time wear wedding rings. You might want to consider putting one on that that finger." She tapped his bare ring finger with the tip of one polished nail. "Avoids confusion." A wedding ring would look good on him, plain gold, straightforward and classic, like the man himself. But that wasn't her call. She curled her fingers into her palm.

Crane spread out his left hand and turned it back to front. "I bow to your expertise. I had not considered that custom. May I beg your assistance in selecting something appropriate?" He turned puppy dog eyes on her.

_No_ danced on the tip of Abbie's tongue. Picking out rings with Ichabod Crane could be very, very dangerous. She took a sip of champagne. "Sure." There was a beat of silence, then, "I'm sorry it's me and not Katrina."

"Thank you." Crane inclined his head. "It would have been the three of us seeing in the new year, with Jeremy. I mean no offense, but I would not have abandoned my son to the care of another so that Katrina and I might have amused ourselves with adult entertainment."

Abbie coughed, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "_Adult entertainment_ means something else these days. Are you calling my hypothetical parenting skills into question?"

The corners of Crane's mouth tipped upwards. "Never. I have every faith you will be an exemplary mother when the time comes. You have taken admirable care of me thus far."

_Careful_, Abbie told herself. It would be easy, oh so easy, to fall for a man like him, but there weren't any men like him. There was only the original, and he was as taken as taken could be. "You are a man of great faith. I'm not so sure that's going to happen."

"Of that, you cannot be sure until you and your husband have had some time. One day, you will find a man who is worthy of all that you are, and he will be blessed indeed."

"Five!" The word erupted from a chorus of voices all at once, clusters of people breaking apart and reforming, angling to be near the right person for the all important midnight kiss.

Crane turned a questing look on Abbie. "Five what?"

"Four! Three!" The countdown continued.

"Those people are moving. Should we be moving?"

Abbie took hold of Crane's sleeve. "You stay here."

"Two! One! Happy New year!" Noisemakers sounded, and clouds of confetti fell from upraised hands.

Abbie startled as Crane's whiskers brushed across her cheek. "What was that for?"

"A kiss of peace, for a peaceful new year. Your friend wished that you would receive a decent kiss at midnight, did she not?"

_You don't know the half of it_. "Ichabod Crane, you are the most decent man I have ever known. I think we can both use all the peace we can get." She raised her glass. "To a peaceful new year."

His glass clinked against hers. "To a peaceful new year."

~fin~


End file.
